


Talk To Me

by PhantasmaDormi



Series: Motanite [1]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Mianite(Minecraft Series), Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: (A dead God), (both of them), Angst, Characters based purely on the youtube series, Dianite is a God, M/M, Mot is a half creeper, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Unrevised Older Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-14
Updated: 2017-08-14
Packaged: 2019-01-09 11:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12275961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantasmaDormi/pseuds/PhantasmaDormi
Summary: Mot confessed to his god, after years of being a strange mix of more than friends and special business partners. It didn’t go as planned. Now he wants nothing more than for the god to talk to him.





	Talk To Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LostOneHero](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostOneHero/gifts).



> Old work from mid-August

Mot was floating in bliss, silent pants working through his body. Beside him, Dianite lay on his back, giving himself to recover from his most recent orgasm. He knew he had to say something now, before the god left for more business. If not now, when might he get a chance, it was hard enough to get the god alone some days, let alone away from his work.

As the ruby skinned man started to rise, Mot swiveled his head towards him, blurting out, “I love you.” 

He should have known something was wrong by how he tensed up, muscles drawn taught. Wordlessly, Dianite rose from the bed and disappeared, clothes vanishing with him. Now alone, the half-creeper despaired as to what that meant.

~

He waited until the next day to seek the god out. Perhaps he should have run after him then, asked him why he ran from him. But he couldn’t. For all his hardiness, he was afraid of the answer he might receive. So when he got out of bed the next morning, (they always had their nights of passion at his house), he made sure Alyssa had a warm breakfast, and had everything she needed for school. Once he saw her off, he made his way back to the compound, blocking out the autumn chill by burrowing further into his scarf.

The welcome he received wasn’t unusual. The dwarves littering the halls looked upon him with scorn, the mistrust in their eyes evident. Any humans he passed mostly ignored him, not unfriendly, but mostly uncaring. He had no real friends in this place, but that didn’t matter. This place only held one significance to him, it was where his god worked. And as he approached his office, he fought back his dread. Dianite was a man of business, he could at least be professional.

Knocking on the door, he wasted no time in entering the room, finding the god behind his desk as usual. Eyes trained on his figure, he noticed the way his shoulders grew rigged, mouth pressed into a thin line. 

Lifting his chin from his scarf, he calmly announced, “We need to talk.” Dianite gave a sigh, eyeballing the papers on his desk for a moment before shifting them to the side. Meeting his gaze, the god nodded for him to continue.

“We both know what was said last night, and I’m not going to take it back. Whether you return my feelings or not, mine won’t change. I just need to know what yours are.” Readying himself, he added, “Spare me no mercy.” 

Jaw clenched, the god straightened up, barely any difference noticed in his posture. “While I enjoy our nights of passion, I hold no feelings towards you beyond valuing your expertise and intellect. Out of respect for you, I feel we should end our meetups, so I don’t continue to lead you on.”

Mot drew a deep breath, letting it go with a nod. Muttering out a thank you, he quietly let himself out of the room. He wouldn’t let this get in the way of his work. Just because he was rejected doesn’t mean he didn’t owe the god for all he had done for him. That didn’t make him feel any better.

~

He carried on in this fashion for weeks. While he did his best to remain the same, to remain stable, Dianite often gave him the cold shoulder. He may have been trying to help him kill his feelings, but it wasn’t working. The more he was dismissed, the more it hurt, the better he wanted to do, the more he wanted him to just look at him. It was painful.

Alyssa started to notice. At first, she wasn’t sure why Dia wasn’t coming over anymore. But she started to piece it together, the brilliant child she was. Looking at Mot, the way his eyes barely concealed his inner turmoil, and watching the few instances she saw the two together, she was sure something happened. Something that couldn’t be fixed in a day, not even with all the time in the world. So she tried other things.

She tried her hardest to make him happy, to distract him. Her school projects, her newest friends, how well Uncle Jeriah was teaching her the ways of the sword. Everything she tried seemed to fall flat. It was infuriating, frustrating, and she couldn’t remember the last time her father had smiled. But then something worse happened. Dianite died.

Mot was devastated, his love still ringing true. The very man that had saved him from the horror of the streets, the life he couldn’t bear to recall, was gone. The one who had ebbed the spread of his creeper spores, accepted their strange mutations, deceased. His already fractured heart shattered. And for the first time in years, he cried. Long after the horrors of his childhood, the drug addled nightmares he couldn’t escape jaded him, he broke with this one event.

Nothing his friends did could console him, Alyssa couldn’t distract him, but he convinced himself   
that his pain didn’t matter. Ianite’s, for sure, meant more, her very brother being taken from her. Martha’s did, having been so close to her uncle, Andor’s did, having adored the god more than his own father. (He wasn’t sure how Mianite felt about it, but surely even his feelings meant more than his). 

But what did the feelings of some creeper infested street scum matter? At this point, he wasn’t sure if anything he did mattered. So when, in a desperate attempt to distract him from the bleeding agony he carried, Alyssa told him of the portal to another realm, he was rather eager to check it out.

As he listened to Spark talk of some imbalance in this realm, he zoned out. Here, with his daughter, he could go through. This was his chance redeem himself. He failed to protect the one person who saw anything good in him, and nurtured it. He lost the love from him, lost the connection he had built. And now, as he stared into the rippling wave of energy, he didn’t have anything holding him back.

So when Spark asked who was going to test it out, he didn’t hesitate to step through. If it killed him, it was for the better.

~

He was almost disappointed when color started to seep back into his vision. After a minute of pure blackness, he was pretty sure he died. Though he could hear a distinct girly shriek in the background, he figured he was falling into hell. But as he found himself free falling towards the great expanse of an ocean, some magical bullshit hugging him, he knew he was alive.

He sucked in a breath as he plunged into the salty waves, the impact absorbed by the barrier around him. The water here, though far above his head, was rather shallow, and he let himself float to the bottom before pushing off the ground and making his way back up. Emerging from beneath the waves, he looked up when the girly shriek seemed to turn into all out screaming. 

Two figures were descending at a rapid rate, while a smaller one glided down calmly. The first appeared to be Jeriah, arms crossed as he waited to hit the water. The other was Spark, who would likely deny the fear emitting from him. If he didn’t close his mouth soon, he’d be throwing up quite a bit of salt water.

The two sank in, one after the other, and Jeriah surfaced hoisting a coughing Spark up by the arm. Alyssa floated down, settling easily into the water, her wings not yet large enough to keep her in the air for long. It was silent for a moment, until various metal parts started to hit the water, some larger than others. 

“Shit,” Spark choked out hoarsely, “The goddamn portal blew up. Looks like Ianite is going to have to wait a little longer than I thought.”  
The group decided to wade towards the beach nearby, a figure clad in red watching them from there. Mot wondered if they really made it into another realm.

~

According to Champwan, the one who had been waiting for them, and Dec -the priest, but not their priest? -, they were definitely in another dimension. But somehow, the Dianite in this world had died too. Which was just great. They were told the tale of the four heroes of this land who had to defeat Dianite, the god who went mad. (Or rather, they found out he went mad when his spirit returned, a hazy image of himself that sometimes followed people around). He wasn’t sure what he thought of his champion of this world, Tom, who so easily took out his own god.

The four, well, Alyssa just watched but Champwan was happy to help, set out to recover what they could of the broken portal. Many of the pieces were too damaged to be reused, so they would need to be smelted back down (they were baffled when they were informed they didn’t have a smeltery, only furnaces. This would take a while to fix…).

Along with setting up a place for the portal, the newcomers took it upon themselves to explore, to see what this new place entailed. Mot, for some unhealthy, terrible reason, had to visit the Dianite temple. (Champwan had given him directions to it, under the assumption he may want to see it. He was quietly impressed by it, his own god choosing to have his be less extravagant and more business-like. In other words, boring). Though he should have known he would see the deceased god, he wasn’t truly prepared for it.

Once he had ventured into the building, he made his way to the grand throne room, one of marvelous construction, especially when one was most acquainted with the inside of office buildings and drugs houses. And there, seated (? He was a spirit after all, despite his seeable form) upon the throne, was Dianite. While part of his heart clenched when he saw him, he could easily spot the difference between this version and his.

This one, for starters, seemed solemn, showing more emotion in the flick of his tail, the curve of his lips, the hunch in his back, than his god did in his most extreme facial expressions. Furthermore, this one was seriously underdressed, (though he admittedly enjoyed the view), where his own god would rather die (oh, that was not the best word) than go out in anything less than a two-piece suit. When his opalescent eyes centered on his form, the lack of recognition spoke volumes.

But there was a hint of knowing in those transparent eyes. 

“You’re the alter ego of Tom, aren’t you?” Though his mouth moved, his voice seemed to come from all around them. 

Tilting his head a fraction, he shrugged, “So it would seem. We weren’t overly well informed as to what we are in this world.”

Shaking his head, the ghost responded, “In a way, you aren’t anything. You aren’t supposed to exist in this world. Yet here you are, and nothing has gone wrong because of it. So, I suppose, you are a person of this world regardless of who else mirrors you.”

Mot could almost feel the god’s gaze lingering on his changed skin, and the tendrils snaking out his back wrapped protectively around his waist. 

“Interesting,” the god continued, “My champion is a zombie, due to unfortunate circumstances. It would seem that the two of you are of similar sufferings. Different, but each harmful in an irreversible way.”

Not comfortable enough to let this man glean farther into who he was, he interjected, “And you and your other are of similar situations. Though… my Dianite hasn’t found himself with the luxury of a seeable form.” Or so he was told. Martha had briefly told him that she could feel Dianite’s spirit, hear his whispers if she listened hard enough. He never heard any.

There was a pause, the god seeming to hesitate. “My strength came back faster due to my… champion,” Mot didn’t miss the slight falter at the word champion, “being the one to kill me. But we both knew it had to happen. I had to be stopped.” 

The raw emotion in his last words felt ready to swallow the mortal. It resonated around the room, a deep churning shame the had no vessel. Mot gave only a nod in response.

“I need to see that my daughter is well,” Mot resumed the conversation after the small lull, “I’ll… I’ll be back in a little. Promise.” If the god was surprised by his ending statement, he didn’t show it. But as he left the room, it felt perhaps a little lighter than it had been before.

~

The creeper man found himself making his way back, curious about this other god. Though he was sure that the god knew he was coming back when he stepped through the nether portal, he was still surprised as he made his way into the room. Neither commented on that fact though.

Plopping himself in front of the god, he decided to cut to the chase. “What was this madness the priest claims to have taken over you?” 

The atmosphere seemed to darken. “It was… something ingrained into me. I had no way of stopping it, so to say. The… madness was sort of a failsafe, if I ever tried to do something certain people didn’t want me to do. I wouldn’t worry too much about it. In the same way you and my champion are different, I’m sure myself and your god are much different the same. I would be honestly surprised if he carried the same madness that tore at me.”

He ended his sentence with a sort of finality, and Mot didn’t feel the need to press further into it. 

Swallowing, he slowly queried, “So, what was your… relationship, with your champion? What did you see him as?” Honestly, he was just doing this to spite himself, wasn’t he? 

“Though we never advertised it, we were together. We’ve been together since hundreds of years ago, but there was… an incident that separated us for many of the years passed. Not too long ago, actually, I finally managed to get him to return. I refused to let death keep us apart any longer.” With a slow nod, Mot mulled over this response.

In a way, he was jealous that his alter had such success with his own god, was given the love he never will be. Part of him resented this mystery person. He had seen his homes, heard of his exploits with his friends, heard of this fantastical life he lived. And he always had wanted something like that. How was it fair that this man in another universe, who was meant to be the other him, received so much fortune when he found so little? At least he had Alyssa. She would always be a light in his life.

“What of you and yours?” The god before him returned the question. 

Careful to keep his words light, he responded, “We were business partners, who often regaled each other with pleasures of the flesh. Until a certain someone fucked it up by confessing his feelings.” The bitter hint at the end of his sentence was not intentional, but he could feel the god’s understanding. He abandoned the topic.

Shifting slightly, from leaning on his fist to sitting with his legs and arms crossed, he proceeded to ask Mot more questions. “I couldn’t help but notice that you have different technology in your world. What advancements are these?” 

The half creeper was more than eager to move to a new conversation, and told of the wonders of tinker’s construct, how great a smeltery was, and the fine tunings of reactors. He took time explaining many of the tech from his world, silently pleased by how Dianite seemed to soak it in. And as the night wore on, they slowly warmed up to each other.

But they knew they couldn’t replace the people they had lost.

~

Almost a month had passed, most of which he spent entertaining his daughter in this strange new world and, somehow, enjoying the company of the rather chaotic ghost. (He learned to ignore his idle comments of how he should blow up this, or stab this person to see how they would take it. It was a little harder to stop himself from antagonizing Mianite, however, but his self-preservation pulled through on that). Day by day he found himself toeing the line between hating his alt for the wonderful life he was given, and respecting the man for his apparent accomplishments.

Today, however, found himself in front of some makeshift portal, not yet turned on. 

“Alright gang,” Spark began, addressing the group of otherworlders, “From the repairing I’ve done with Mot and Champwan, we may have fixed the damn device.” 

Muttering under his breath, he added, “If only Gaines was here.” 

Gesturing to the gangly machine, he continued, “We are going to hook it to a pretty rudimentary power generator, and I’ll need someone to test it out. I don’t think you’ll die, but we never know.” 

Mot wordlessly stepped forward, rolling his eyes as Spark signaled for Champwan to lower the wheel into the river next to them, used to passively gain power.

With a spluttering hum, it whirred to life, the murky blue beams it emitted forming a hazy look into an open field. Sighing, he gave a meaningful glance at Jeriah (‘If I die you better as hell take care of Alyssa’), and started to enter the field. Then something went wrong. 

“Shit, Mot, get out!” These words reached him just as the machine gave a groan, and his first instinct was to push farther in, fearing what would happen if tried to step out now.

The scenery he had seen from the blue barrier remained, but he could now see signs of humans somewhat farther out. Namely, what seemed to be some sort of reactor? If this was the case, the portal may have worked. Turning back, it was gone. Cursing, he strode forward, ready to ask the nearest person where he was. As he walked around the reactor (that was definitely what it was), he saw someone in the distance, heading towards a house. Jogging up to them, he yelled to get their attention.

The man jumped, startled, and whipped around to face him. And he looked exactly like Spark. But his glasses, they were red? And he didn’t look like an old man, his face appearing rather youthful. (He was rather cute if he was being honest. But that didn’t faze him). 

Once he spoke, he knew for sure he wasn’t Spark. “Uh, hello? I don’t think I’ve seen you before?”

Putting a little space between them, Mot locked eyes with him. 

“Oh, I was here long before you were ever here. I’m sure you weren’t here last time I was.”   
Narrowing his eyes, he queried, “Who are you? You look like someone I know.”   
He had a hunch. Would they have switched places? 

“Not you too! Everyone likes to point out I look like this Sparks guy! I’m Captain Sparklez, and I wear red shades.”

Mumbling to himself, he answered, “That you do.” 

Speaking loud enough for the young man to hear, he continued, “Can you show me the way to Dagrun? I need to see if anyone I know is still there.” 

He received a hesitant nod, and they were off. He wasn’t sure what would await him. Would he meet his other? How much time had passed? Was… was Dia back?

~

He met Tom. The energetic, chaotic zombie was just as skeptical about him as he was of the other. But after their duel, he seemed to settle a little with the idea of having an alter ego. Though they still weren’t quite friends, they weren’t about to kill each other. So, yeah. Progress. And apparently his god was still dead. And people had heard him talk, his spirit following some people. Still, he heard nothing.

He wasn’t bothered by this at all, and when he was given a room to stay in for the night, he definitely wasn’t calling the god out on it. 

“You would talk to strangers from another dimension on a whim, but not your own goddamn champion? Must you still give me the cold shoulder, even in death?”

As he was about to add to his rant, as quiet voice rang out, “You left.” 

Before he could respond, Dianite spoke again, “You just leave this world, not even telling me, and expect me to welcome you with happiness and relief?” 

The mortal grit his teeth. “I’m so fucking sorry that you couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me without having someone else there! How was I supposed to know that the portal would break? I was under the impression you didn’t give a shit about me anymore in the first place.”

The silence was heavy, but Mot was relieved to at least tell the god his grievances.

“You… I was actually starting to fall in love with you, you know? But the last time hurt so much… with all my power I couldn’t stop the inevitable end of their life from coming. I was scared to love you, because I was afraid you would die one day, leave me all alone again. But I guess I was fucking right, you did leave me. And it was your choice.”

And when he screamed back to the god, he knew he wasn’t heard. He dropped the bomb and left. How dare he think that he could pull that guilt trip? When he was the one who made Mot feel worthless again? When he had taken to pushing him away, to forcing him to get over it? How fucking dare he think he had the right to feel hurt, when his heart shattered the day he refused to speak with him alone, when he refused to even act like a friend to the man? 

He screamed at the god, who must be so far away now, until his voice was hoarse, worn down by all the regret and anger he kept inside for so long.

But now, he didn’t have to pretend he didn’t care. As the last of his anger fled, he only felt numb.

~

The two didn’t speak again. Tom, however, seemed to have a strange fascination with the half creeper. At first, it was under the pretense of wanting to get to know his fellow champion. But as they spent more time together, he actually sought him out just for his company. It was nice, having someone so openly happy to see him. He was starting to grow rather fond of the zombie. 

(He couldn’t help the pang of jealousy when he remembered that his god loved him, that his life was going so splendidly. He crushed it down every time. He needed this man, as much as he hated to admit it. Something about him eased the pain a little).

The more he got to know the zombie, the more he got to spend time in his tree house. Though he was much more into the desert of Urulu, which he had visited a few times, but stayed in Dagrun to help with the… taint situation, he found the space to be quite homely. A few times, he even slept over. (At some point, Tom had set up a permanent room for him. It was one of his guest rooms, but, he informed Mot, he didn’t get many guests this far out).

He wasn’t expecting to be awoken by screams one of the nights he stayed over. After all, what would someone with a perfect life have to nightmare over? Apparently, a lot. (In the back of his mind, he feels guilty for labeling Tom’s life as perfect so quickly, assuming he hadn’t had to work to have what he did. Some days, he could see the cracks in his relationships with his friends, from when his god had lost himself). So when he made his way into Tom’s room, he wasn’t really prepared for the shivering, sweat streaked mess the zombie was. They didn’t talk about it, but Mot made sure to stay with him that night.

(The next morning, Tom mentioned in passing that he clearly remembers his descent into death, and that sometimes if he sleeps wrong it will feel like he’s falling again, and he’s not sure he could do it again. But he says it like he’s talking about the weather, so Mot just nods).

At some point, Mot found himself rooming there full time, even as the tensions in the world were strung high. Though there was talk of reviving Dianite, they never talked about it in the treehouse. Instead, they saved that time to bonding. Mot even found himself haltingly sharing his wretched experience as a half creeper, in which Tom listened quietly, a strange look for the normally fidgety man. In return, Tom would tell him of a time long before what he had now, when the world was more focused on fighting. He would point out scars, telling him what they meant and what battles he got them in.

Of course, the two didn’t spend all their time together, Mot checking in with old acquaintances, or Martha, or even Ianite. (Ianite had always been fond of Mot, though he wasn’t sure why. She was one of the first people to figure out something happened between him and Diante). 

As time passed, Mot found himself less involved with his pining over Dianite (feelings still there? Yes? Damn.) and more into the problems of the land.

And then they went to revive Dianite.

~

Steve shouldn’t have needed to do that. How could they have missed such a crucial thing? Now as his body disappeared, he was torn between grief for Steve, someone he liked even if they didn’t talk much, and the distant happiness at seeing Dia alive. But as his figure rose, his eyes sweeping over everyone gathered there, but him, that happiness died. And Steve become more important than his god.

As he went to console Martha, Tom went to speak with the god. He didn’t look over at them. He couldn’t. Even if he tried his best to squash his feelings for his god, he couldn’t stop the anger of how easily Dia could converse with his alt, when his original champion was right there.  
But then World Historian showed up, and he didn’t have time to think about it. (Some things were more important than Dianite).

~

He was falling again. The endless blackness the moved around them, the only signal that they were going anywhere. Even with the strange, squishy platform they could vaguely move about on, the quarters made close with the sheer amount of them, Dianite would not fucking talk to him. After a few tense blow offs, in which anyone brought into a conversation with the god immediately wanted out, he gave up. If he wanted to be a selfish asshole, they didn’t need to work out their problems. He was willing to be professional, not forget their nights together, to let his shriveled feelings die. And he was going to do that with or without the god.

Now sitting with Tom, the younger having fallen asleep against him, he chose to think about someone else. He wondered how Alyssa was doing, stuck with the wet napkin and the worried Ianitee (he despaired, quietly, how they would break the news about Ianite to him). Instead of pinning for a man who would never return his feelings, he worked on thinking of a new future, without him. (And it hurt, still. Shards of his heart break still lingered, and they would, for a long time. Even now, he struggled to let them go).

And, despite the weird nature of their relationship, he wondered how the other Dianite was doing, a bored spirit yearning for chaos. Settling his head on top of Tom’s, he listened to the zombie’s even breathing. Some people were more important than the god.

**Author's Note:**

> (You know, I'm actually proud of this one)


End file.
